Chapter 3 #2
I was making a spectacle of myself. I wasn’t usually this free, but something about Gideon cut through the self-consciousness.
He was out of my league, and I assumed he hated my family, me included.
If he dropped the bill on me thinking he’d get one over on a Bailey, I could cover it.
I hadn’t had a treat like this in . . . ever.
I picked up a slice of something that had as much fat as meat and paired it with the hard cheese. I put it on top of the warm toasted bread that also had a fancy name. “Here.”
He looked from my fingers to me, then drew his arms off the back of the booth. He twisted to the side, gingerly took the food offering, and put it all in his mouth. The muscles of his jaw bunched as he chewed. How could eating be so . . . masculine?
I was mesmerized, watching his lips. He had a tiny crumb at the corner of his mouth.
I swiped it away, and his pupils dilated.
“Dang. Sorry, I didn’t mean to touch you.” I finished off my third Bloody Mary to distract myself from the slight scrape of stubble I’d felt. Did his whiskers defy the razor every day?
He chose the combination I’d first selected and held it up to my mouth. Was he feeding me? He gave me an expectant look.
Carefully, I snatched the compilation from him and popped it into my mouth. I might get stuck with the bill. The thought helped dull the thrill. I was not Gideon’s type. I swallowed hard.
He hated my family. Remember?
My memory seemed to be a sieve where he was concerned tonight.
“I saw you storm out,” I blurted as if to remind him he didn’t like me. In case he’d forgotten. “When you were at Copper Summit last spring.”
His eyes flickered. The pupils that had dilated when I fed him were now smaller, more intent. “You caught that.”
“I was working in the bar.”
He didn’t look at me as he pieced together more meat and cheese. He put the combo on a cracker this time. “I didn’t realize the bar was open that early.”
“We are, but I was doing the books.”
He slid his gaze toward me, then back to the food as he compiled another stack. Then he offered me one and made a second for himself.
I popped an olive off drink number four and gave it to him. “I bet this will taste amazing with the softer cheese.”
“Olives are your favorite.”
“How’d you know?”
A slight arch of his brow brought a sweep of embarrassment. I’d gobbled the olives off my first two drinks. I’d maybe moaned once or twice. If I could’ve dived headfirst into the Bloody Mary, I would’ve.
I put the olive on the plate. “They are, but I can share what I like.”
“Is that what you teach the kids?”
I nodded. “I think it’s important to teach them when to share. Otherwise, it’s like a free-for-all.”
He paused with the stack of food close to his mouth. “Very true. My class could’ve used that lesson.”
“Yeah, it’s much more complicated than we give it credit for. But my students are also older too. It’s mostly learning to respect others’ property and knowing that you don’t have a claim to it just because it’s within the school’s walls.”
He chewed and propped an elbow close to my shoulder. When had we gotten closer?
“How do you have time to do the books when you teach full-time?”
The books for the bar were fairly simple compared to the rest of the distillery.
What my brother Tenor did was more like conducting an orchestra with all the moving parts involved in the distillery.
The bar was a teeny-tiny part, and I kind of resented that I only got so much say over it.
When Wynter worked the bar more, the guys would defer to her.
When I brought it up, they’d tell me I wasn’t around. I had a full-time job.
I wasn’t going to confess any of that to Gideon. “I have summers off. Other teachers can use the money from teaching summer school, and I have an easy second income. Besides, I like working in the bar and creating drinks.”
“You like mixology.”
I liked control. The patrons didn’t knock over their drinks nearly as often as kids spilled leaky water bottles.
And when a tipsy customer spilled a drink, I didn’t have twenty other students commentating the event and the cleanup.
Drunk patrons didn’t throw blame around quite as much as eight-year-olds, usually.
Plus, tending bar didn’t require parent-teacher conferences.
I loved teaching, but I liked my breaks. Some days were exhausting. And just when I was sick of dealing with my brothers, I could go back to school and feel like I had some authority.
“I like creating fun drinks. Wynter and I got into it, but then she moved around. Now she’s back, but she’s working in—” I was going to say the offices, but that made it sound like the C-suite, which would imply I was just another part-time staff.
I sort of was. “She works from home a lot with the new baby.”
His expression remained politely interested but, overall, impassive. “So you bartend?”
“I bartend. And do books.” I didn’t know why it was important for me to include that. He was the CEO of this entire building. Silver was like a small city, and Gideon was the mayor.
I poured drinks part-time and taught addition and subtraction and grammar full-time. I was proud of my work. Both jobs. But next to Gideon, I felt like the girl who’d been left in line when her hotter friends were let in.
“And the books,” he murmured and selected another piece of meat and cheese. He held the food up toward my mouth. “A real family business.”
I snatched it from his fingers. Surprise flitted through his dark gaze and the corner of his mouth quirked so slightly I almost missed it.
I chewed on my food. Whoever did their purchasing knew what they were doing. The flavor was excellent. Every part of this casino was meticulously run.
What was it like working for Gideon? He looked like he never smiled. Was he a tyrant or a fair boss?
My brothers were amazing guys—excellent to work for and all-around gentlemen. They also bought their own hype and could be frustrating.
“A real family business,” I parroted and collected more food. I assembled a crostini, some of the spicier meat, and the smoothest cheese. I held it out for him.
Instead of grasping the food, he circled his long fingers around my wrist. His tanned skin made my pale flesh stand out.
I watched—gaped—as he lifted my hand closer to his mouth. Then he took a deliberate bite.
He locked his gaze with mine as he chewed.
“Is it good?” I sounded ridiculous, but I had no idea what to say. No man as good-looking as Gideon James had eaten out of my fingers.
Had I fed any guy like this?
He gently took the remaining meat and cheese compilation and brought it to my lips.
Oh god, oh god, oh god. He wanted me to eat out of his hand?
I’d eat off this man’s chest.
I overshot my bite, thanks to the bourbon Bloody Mary, and my lips closed around his fingertips. Instead of being a sophisticated and sensual woman, I was a half-lit, sloppy girl.
But from the way his pupils dilated, I wasn’t sure he agreed. The idea was heady. Could I, Autumn Kerrigan, small-town teacher, do something that a Vegas CEO as powerful as Gideon James found sexy?
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple working up and down, completely mesmerizing, and watched my lips as I finished chewing.
I couldn’t break eye contact as Sera appeared to deliver another drink for me, loaded with even more olives than all the others had been.
“You tell me, firecracker. Is it good?”
“Very.” My attention wasn’t on my taste buds. The green in his eyes caught the dim lights overhead.
He shifted to face me more fully, like he was going to tell me a secret. “What’s it like working for the family business?”
“Tate’s in charge of Bailey Beef. Teller’s in charge of Copper Summit. Summer manages the Bozeman location. The daily operational and financial decisions are made by them. Larger ones that affect the whole company need all of us. We’re the board.”
His attention intensified. “And your spouses?”
My excitement swelled. “Tate’s wife works with me at the school. We were friends before they married.” She wouldn’t have left me outside the club. “Wynter’s husband runs his own distillery—Foster House.”
A dark brow lifted. “I’ve heard of it.”
“Summer’s husband has his own successful business.
I don’t know. Maybe if a spouse wanted to be a part of the company, they’d get hired on.
” I took another drink and set my glass on the table.
I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I folded them on my lap, but with the way I was sitting, the angle was uncomfortable.
I looked like I was posing for family pictures.
He took my hand and my heart stammered. His rough thumb stroked over my knuckles. “Maybe what I’m asking, Autumn Kerrigan, is why you’re not married.”
A thready laugh eked out of me. Gideon James wanted to know why I was single.
Maybe what I’m asking . . .
It wasn’t what he was asking, it was why.